


Promises of an Unknown Coast

by TigerMoon



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Disabled Character, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Intersex Character, M/M, Military Backstory, Parent-Teacher Conference, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Private School, Single Parents, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11163627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerMoon/pseuds/TigerMoon
Summary: Qrow Branwen has never asked for much in life. Sure, his sister's in prison and his brother-in-law is a bit of a wreck, his best friend is missing a few limbs and Qrow left a few bits of himself back in Afghanistan... but he has a steady job teaching, a small house, his family and his friends. And if he drinks a little more than the average person, or uses a little something to help him sleep, well - life doesn't turn out all sunshine and roses for people like him.Until, that is, the eccentric Ozpin Pine walks into Qrow's life and turns it upside-down.





	1. Whiskey Is a Great Painkiller

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to _Promises of an Unknown Coast_! I haven't done an AU in.... ever, actually, so this is a first for me. Small-town romantic drama/comedy with a side of angst? SURE WHY NOT.
> 
> If I screw this up, throw stuff at me.
> 
> I don't have a planned update schedule for this, exactly, though I'm aiming at every other Saturday? Hold my feet to the fire for this.

“Having fun there, Mr. Branwen?”

Qrow looked up from the sheaf of papers he was flipping through to give the blonde at his doorway a scathing look. It was still odd, after two months, to be sitting behind a desk in a real classroom; even odder, to be wearing a button-down shirt and vest and tie (even if the tie was half-assed and the neck unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to display impressive sets of watercolor corvid tattoos wrapping around his forearms). “That’s going to get old eventually, Yang,” he replied. The test he was holding had a dozen red lines already scribbled through it; he added another one, then scratched out _SEE ME_ in all caps at the top.

“Naaah,” his niece drawled. She grinned when he rolled his eyes. “You look so weird all professional like that, y’know? Why do you even have to teach, anyway? I thought being athletics director was enough of a chore.” Which it was, especially for a school the size of Beacon Academy, but there were rules and one of those was that the athletics director had to be a teacher. Qrow didn’t mind, not really. He only had to teach three classes, and he could be selective about who he allowed in. Though, looking at the failing test he held now, apparently he hadn’t been selective enough. Damn Winchester boy was going to flunk at this rate, and that meant a hole in the school’s admittedly lackluster football team.

He sighed. Well. Sports or academics – either way, it was better the kids got something that kept them in school rather than going down the route he had.

His gaze hit the twin ravens interlocked around his wrist and a bitter, nameless emotion swelled up within him. Then again, the kids could do far worse than what he’d done.

They could turn out like Raven.

“I don’t question _your_ life decisions,” he finally said, pen pointing disapprovingly at her outfit. At sixteen, Yang was in the throes of rebellion, and as soon as the school bell rang she was out of the school uniform and into street clothing – jeans worn far too tight, shirts that hung too low, secondhand leather jackets and scuffed shitkicker boots. Today’s t-shirt was one of his, actually, navy blue with a winged centaur printed on it and a banner beneath.

_Death Waits In the Dark._

Yang scoffed again and crossed her arms over her chest, oblivious to how his brow tightened and he looked away from her. “You question everything I do,” she argued.

“Yeah, well, I’m your uncle. Second-guessing your ‘juvenile antics’ is part of the job.” He picked up the last of the tests to be graded. “And I thought I told you to stay out of my closet. Tai just bought you new clothes before school started. Wear those.”

“Yeah, and I’m already outgrowing-” She stopped mid-sentence and cocked her head. “You hear that?”

Qrow tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in concentration, as Yang stuck her head back out in the hallway. The noise was elevating and he could hear it now, if only barely. Chanting. “Qrow? I think there’s a fight starting.”

But Qrow was up and moving already, having taken his reading glasses off and dropped them on his desk before pushing past his niece. (“Hey!”) There was, indeed, something going on at the far end of the hallway, past the lockers – students were swarming in a crowd, gasping in horror and egging some unseen combatants on as one youthful voice cracked above the din.

Every school had bullies. Beacon was no exception.

“Hey!” Qrow started running, his dogtags jangling uncomfortably under his shirt. A scathing voice broke through above the crowd, all smugness and cruelty. _Shit._ He knew those boys, had them both on the junior varsity soccer team. Whitley Schnee was rich, spoiled, and a notorious bully who had a reputation for using his father’s influence to gain favor with teachers. The other, Oscar Pine, was Whitley’s opposite in virtually every way – a quiet student on scholarship with a penchant for daydreaming in classes that weren’t art.

The argument had been going on for a bit, if the trembling and cracking pitch of Oscar’s voice was any indication. Whitley was sneering, cruel humor coloring his voice. Now he was just close enough to hear the distinct words. His stomach twisted in anger at what he did manage to catch, the Schnee family heir’s mocking words: “-least you’re not a limp-wristed faggot like your father – or are you?”

There was a roar, and students scattered back as Oscar flew forward and smashed his fist into Whitley’s face. Blood squirted out from his nose; Whitley threw a wild punch of his own, busting Oscar’s lip open against his teeth. Before either could retaliate further, Qrow shoved his way through and grabbed them both by the collar, jerking them apart. Oscar flailed in fury; Whitley held a hand to his nose and trembled in rage.

“ _Stop it!_ Right now!” he snapped, giving Oscar a hard shake. Whitley snarled a vile curse, glaring at them both as blood dripped from his nose onto the white of his uniform shirt. “Both of you! I’m not going to tolerate that kind of language – or this kind of kindergarten brawl – in the school!”

“That’s enough, thank you, Mr. Branwen.” Qrow stood up straight, still holding on to the boys, as the sound of heels clicking on the floor came up behind him. Yang hovered behind Glynda Goodwitch, the headmistress of Beacon Academy; she must have gotten her at the sign of trouble. He gave his niece a nod of thanks before looking to his superior. Her face was grave, lips pursed in a scowl and a hand up on her hip as she look them over. It was dead silent now; the rest of the crowd had scattered as soon as she had come around the corner. “Mr. Schnee. Mr. Pine. We have had this discussion _before_. Brawling is not permitted on school grounds!” Her gaze swept over them. “What started it this time?”

Oscar scrubbed at his eyes but refused to say anything. Whitley scowled and turned away, just as silent. “I saw the fight,” Qrow said. “And if you ask me-”

Glynda held up a hand to stop him. “Who threw the first punch?”

This time Oscar spoke. “I did,” he snapped. “And I’d do it again, too.”

“I see.” She took hold of Whitley’s arm. “Mr. Schnee, Mr. Pine, you are both suspended for three days. I’ll be informing your parents about this immediately. Mr. Branwen, would you kindly take Mr. Pine and get him cleaned up? I will do the same for this young man here.”

The glance she gave him – _we will be discussing this later –_ said volumes. Qrow nodded. “Sure,” he said. “Yang, go get me the first aid kit out of the teacher’s lounge and then go get Ruby. She’ll have to go with you to your driver’s ed course.”

Yang frowned, but ran off as Glynda hauled Whitley away to the nurse’s office. Oscar had finally gone still in his grasp, his fists balled up by his sides and his shoulders trembling. Between them, the polished granite floor was spattered with crimson droplets like rain, the only sign there had been a fight. “Let’s get you cleaned up, pipsqueak,” Qrow sighed as he let go of him. “Come on. My office is just around the corner.”

The boy didn’t say a word during the slow but short walk to his office. He probably couldn’t. Qrow could hear the little sniffles he was trying to hold back, and he had no desire to confront a crying kid on top of everything else. Especially a crying boy; boys Oscar’s age were too damned old to cry, in his opinion, but he wasn’t so heartless that he was going to embarrass the kid. The slowness of the walk was more to give him a chance to get a grip on his emotions than anything – that, and to let Yang get the kit and get out. Sure enough, it was sitting on his desk when they arrived, and Yang was nowhere to be seen. Qrow waved Oscar in, then paused when he stopped at the threshold of the room.

“… I'm not gonna apologize,” Oscar said defiantly, his voice muffled.

Qrow laughed at that. “Not gonna ask you to.”

Oscar looked up at him then, his expression far too old and pained for a kid his age. At Qrow’s insistent nod, he scuffed his way in and sat down in the chair in front of the teacher’s desk, fidgeting. The man took his chin in his hand and tilted his head up to examine his split lip. “You’ve got a hell of a right hook on you, kid,” he said, tugging down on his lip with his thumb. The crack there was nasty, especially inside, sluggishly oozing blood down his chin; he was going to have to get a couple of stitches. “I don’t _think_ you broke his nose, but it’ll be a close thing.”

“I hope I _did_ ,” Oscar grumbled with a wince.

He held up the trashcan and let the boy spit a mouthful of blood into it. “Look, kid – Oscar – jerks like him aren’t going to learn because you beat the snot out of them. He wants a reaction out of you. You beating him up just lets him play victim.” Opening the first aid kit, Qrow pulled out a few butterfly bandages, some gauze, and an instant ice pack. “Look up at me.”

He scowled but obeyed. “I get it, okay?” Qrow continued as he mopped the blood from his face. He tried to breathe through his mouth. The smell, the feel, was a bit too reminiscent of other things, of places half a world away. “You want to protect your old man. But they just call him that because it gets under your skin-”

Oscar jerked away at that, teeth gritted in a snarl, and Qrow stopped his ministrations to look the boy in the eye. His eyes were bright with tears again, angry, and the man’s stomach sank. “… shit,” he breathed. “That’s why you’re so mad. Your dad’s gay, isn’t he?”

“ _No_. Why? You got a problem with _faggots_ too?” Oscar spat the epithet out as if it were poison. His fingers gripped the chair edge so tight his knuckles turned white. “It’s nobody’s business what he is!”

Qrow sighed and began unwrapping the butterfly tapes. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said calmly. “You’re right, it’s none of my business.” Pinching his bottom lip together, he taped part of the gash shut. “Does that hurt?”

He winced. “No.”

“Yeah, I see that.” He placed another butterfly bandage on his lip. “Back where I’m from, you’d get a shot of whiskey to kill the pain. Here all you get is a lollipop.” He paused. “Or you would if I hadn’t eaten them all already.”

Oscar stared up at him, wide-eyed. “I am _twelve years old_ ,” he said, his voice wavering somewhere between outrage and awe.

Qrow forced a grin and popped the instant icepack. As soon as it gathered frost, he laid it gently over his face. The boy hissed a moment before leaning his battered and bruising jaw into the soothing chill. “… you did good, Oscar,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Not sayin’ that what you did was _smart_ , mind you, but – you stood up for family. A lot of people wouldn’t.”

The boy’s hazel-green eyes softened into something proud, almost happy. “Dad’s always stood up for me,” he replied softly.

Well. It was hard to reply to that; fortunately he didn’t have to. Someone cleared their throat behind them; Qrow jerked and whirled around, hand dropping to his side, to see Glynda standing at the door, accompanied by a dark-haired, tanned young woman who could have been Oscar’s sister. The younger woman rushed over to Oscar’s side when he got to his feet. “Oh, Oscar,” she sighed, taking him by the shoulders. “Oz is going to have a _heart attack_ when he sees you like this!”

“Amber?” He looked worried for the first time since the altercation started. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s running late with the-” The young woman paused and looked askance at Qrow, then shook her head. “-the _doctor_. He knows all about your little stunt, too, I just got off the phone with him.” Oscar’s shoulders slumped in her grip. “We’re going to meet him there and take you to get seen.”

“A good idea,” Qrow said. Oscar gave him a disgruntled look of betrayal; he shrugged and smiled lopsidedly. “He’s going to need stitches in that lip.”

Amber sighed again. “Right. Thanks for taking care of him.” She rubbed at her eyes, looking quite stressed for someone so young. For a moment Qrow wondered just how old she was; she looked like a college student, to him, but he’d never been a good judge of age. “Come on. We’re gonna be late.”

Oscar slid off the chair and squared his shoulders. He looked up at Qrow for a moment, trying to smile, but the gesture just pulled on his busted lip. “...thanks, Mr. Branwen,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah.” He lightly thumped Oscar on the shoulder. “Remember, if they offer you a lollipop, ask them for whiskey instead. Works a lot better.” Oscar snorted a laugh as Glynda glared daggers at him; Amber rolled her eyes and smiled just a bit before sweeping her young charge away.

Qrow waited until they were well out of the room before letting the tension bleed out of his shoulders. He shot a dark glower at the woman still standing there. “… you _really_ shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”

“For the love of God, Qrow....” Silence reigned for a few more moments before Glynda leaned against the door frame and rubbed at her temples. “Let me guess. Whitley said something about his mother?”

“Nope. Called his old man a-” and he raised his hands, fingers curling in air quotes, “’limp-wristed faggot.’ Pretty sure there’s a by-law in the school rules that says hate speech is against the rules.”

Glynda’s jaw worked for a moment. “He _what_.”

Shrugging, he looked down at his hands. There was a drop of dried crimson on the corner of his thumbnail. For a second he felt his skin crawl, felt it burning like lava, then shook his head to clear the thoughts away. “I take it Oscar gets bullied a lot, if you already had a prediction of what happened.” He began to pick at the side of his nail, scraping the blood away. Tiny flakes of crimson that settled in the creases of his skin, and oh, he’d gotten some of the kid’s blood on his knuckle too, look at that.

“Unfortunately. Whitley Schnee’s parents are very wealthy benefactors of the academy, though, and they have two children attending here now. His older sister is much more civilized.” Glynda pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “The Board of Directors has been alerted a few times of the inappropriate behavior, but they’ve always been reluctant to allow any appropriate punishment. Usually we only have the other childrens’ word to go on. If you heard it, though-” She stopped herself and took hold of his hand. “ _P_ _lease_ tell me that’s your blood.”

“Sure, if you want.” He tried to grin and brush it off, but her emerald eyes were far too serious on him. His fingers went back to scraping at the blood, clawing until his skin was growing red.

“This isn’t a combat zone. You have to be sanitary about these sorts of things! If he gets an infection because you have dirty hands, the school is liable!” She sighed and let go. “Go wash up. You’ll have to write up an incident report about the alteration… but you can do that from home. It’s getting late, and you have your – ?”

Qrow’s fingers tightened, hiding the bloody spots from his vision. “My nieces.”

“Nieces. You should take them home, Qrow,” she said in a voice far too gentle for a woman made of steel. There was a note of pity in there that raised his hackles. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Qrow didn’t even look at her as he left the classroom. He didn’t look at anything – the staff bathroom was empty; he locked the door and cranked the water in the sink up as hot as it would go, lathered his hands until they were pure white, and scrub scrub _scrubbed_ until his skin burned raw.

Gods, he wanted a drink.


	2. Superstition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qrow gets some good news, some bad news, and a very special visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never written Ironwood before, so he may not be right. Please don't kill me if he is wrong. Also, I'm not completely happy with this chapter? But my brain is fried and i needed to get it out, so. Enjoy?

There were four missed calls blinking on his cell when Qrow finally sat down to relax that evening.

Yang and Ruby were at the kitchen table, pouring over their homework as they waited for the delivery guy to bring pizza. Some kind of asinine pop-40 hit played quietly on the radio, drivel about strawberry champagne and other romantic bullshit. He groaned and stretched out on the couch, the girls’ pet corgi Zwei flopping on his stomach for a nap, and began listening to his voicemail. One call from the pharmacy about his prescription refill – deleted. He’d already picked that up on his way home, little peach pills that promised numbness and sleep. One call from Central California Women’s Facility – Raven got out half a word before he punched delete.

“Don’t break your phone, Uncle Qrow, jeez,” Yang snarked from the kitchen. He waved her off absently as the third voicemail played. Taiyang’s voice was a welcome distraction, but he sounded too cheerful for it to be entirely good news - “ _Hey, asshole, call me back!_ _Somethin’ big came up, wait’ll you hear this!_ ” Qrow picked up his bottle of beer and rolled the cool glass across his forehead to push away the throbbing headache that was building up there. Taiyang he could handle. Even if something had gone terribly wrong, he could handle that. Raven, on the other hand… he tilted his head over the arm of the couch and looked upside-down at the girls at the table. Yang would be furious that he hadn’t told her about her mother calling, but dammit, the less time she spent near Raven the better.

It was hard, having a parent in prison. Qrow knew that from experience. He’d hoped Raven would have remembered, but she seemed content to let past mistakes repeat – and he was not going to let Yang be the third generation.

“Fucking Raven,” he sighed under his breath, and chugged down the last of his now-lukewarm beer. “Fucking Tai.”

The phone in his hand rang before he could check the last voicemail; he debated answering it for a moment before flicking the screen. “Thank you for calling Branwen Mortuary – you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em.” Behind him, Ruby and Yang (and Zwei, after a second) mock howled, squealing as if someone were ripping out their guts, before dissolving into giggles.

“Dammit, Qrow.” Taiyang sighed into the earpiece, a gusty, crackling noise. “You’re going to get into trouble doing that shit one of these days.”

“Be worth it, though.” Qrow tossed the empty beer bottle aside. “How’s Vegas? Hookers and blow?”

Ruby launched herself into the living room, her chair falling over with a bang in the kitchen. “Omi _gawd_ is that Dad? Is it? He hasn’t called in forever! I wanna talk to him!”

“In a moment, pipsqueak.” Qrow shoved his hand in her face with a smirk. “Go pick up whatever that was you knocked over and finish your homework first.”

“ _Awwww_ ….”

“Qrow, maybe take this call outside?” Tai said, his voice low.

Behind him, Ruby was picking up her chair and arguing about something with Yang; he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Yeah. Gimme a sec. Hey, Yang.” When she looked up, he pulled out his wallet and unfolded two crisp bills. “I gotta talk to your old man outside. Give these to the delivery guy when he comes, tip him five bucks, and you can keep whatever’s left. Deal?”

Yang grinned and bounced over to snag the cash. “And save me a couple slices this time! You heathens better not eat it all!” he shouted over his shoulder as he went out on the back porch, Zwei on his heels.

Once the door slammed shut Qrow popped open another beer. “So how’s the trade show going? If you tell me you’ve been hittin’ the slots, I’ll drive up there and punch you in the dick.”

“Love you too, bro,” Tai snorted. “No, it’s better. Way better.”

“Poker tournament?”

“Never mind, I hate you.” The background was quiet, actually – all Qrow could hear was the sound of the strip, cars honking and distant voices chattering and yelling. Tai’s voice, however was bubbling over with cheer. “Guess who just got offered forty grand to restore a 1931 Harley-Davidson EL?”

A low whistle escaped him. Zwei looked up from his insistent inspection of a dying rose bush and barked; Qrow waved him off. “How much of that is going towards getting replacement parts? Those ain’t gonna be cheap, Tai.”

“That’s the best part! The owner’s _got_ all the major replacement parts. All I have to do is hunt down a few parts for the valve system – I’ve already looked her over, I know what I need – and strip her down, give her a badass new paint job, talk the guy into some better tires….” Taiyang’s voice dropped, exhausted. “The guy who wants me to do this – he’s _famous_ , Qrow. This could be my big break.”

“Yeah.” It was a break they needed. Xiao Long Motors was a small motorcycle shop in Palo Alto, and while Tai’s skill in restoration got him repeat business with the wealthy of Silicon Valley, it was just enough to keep a roof over his family’s head and clothes on the kids’ backs. The medical bills from Summer’s passing four years ago had taken a huge dent out of his meager savings, and he was just beginning to recover. Qrow helped out when he could, of course, but that wasn’t as often as he liked. His Army pension, plus his salary and savings, allowed him to afford the mortgage on his tiny house, but even then money was tight. “Damn, Tai, this is… this is _great_. You got this.”

Taiyang hesitated. “Well… it also means I’ll be gone another two weeks.”

And there was the catch. “You have to tell the girls this time, Tai. I’m not gonna be the bad guy again.” He sighed. “So what’s the bad news? There has to be something worse than that, or you wouldn’t have asked me to go outside.”

“… Raven’s coming up for parole early.”

Qrow exploded. “ _Mother of fuck_ \- how the hell’d she manage _that_ bullshit?”

“Same old tale as the first time. They need room, she’s behaved… she’ll be up in three months. I’m not letting her near Yang again, Qrow. The last time that happened-”

Qrow gripped the neck of his beer, resisting the urge to smash it against the railing. “I remember,” he said lowly. Zwei headbutted him, whining; he dug his fingers into his thick fur, letting the feel calm him down. He remembered. He remembered all too well, a fourteen-year-old Yang standing at the door, duffelbag hanging from her fingers, hope dissolving into hurt and self-hatred when, hours later, her mother had never showed. “She can’t come near Yang without your permission, though, or mine, and like hell am I ever givin’ it to her. She got her parental rights terminated a long time ago. I’m not letting her fuck with my family.”

Tai was silent for a moment. “Raven’s not family to you?”

“She chose the needle over her own daughter, Tai. That’s not the kind of person I want to call family.” Qrow slung back a long swallow of his beer. “I’ll let you talk to the girls. They won’t be happy, but I think they’ll understand.”

* * *

Ruby had taken the news better than Qrow had expected. She was upset, of course – she was still rather clingy towards her father, even so long after her mother’s passing – but she was also smart enough to realize how important the job was. Yang, on the other hand, had snapped at Tai, cutting her call off early to stalk back into the guest bedroom she shared with Ruby.

At least they’d saved him some pizza.

Ruby sat in front of the TV with Zwei playing a shooter on Qrow’s gaming PC while he camped out at the table with the incident reports and his pizza, recording the events of the day. This was familiar. Mind-numbing, even. Government work created all kinds of paperwork; the forms the school had seemed tame in comparison. Chewing on a slice of pepperoni, he scribbled down a list of the medical supplies he’d used on the Pine boy and a brief explanation of his injury. _T_ _wo centimeter long vertical_ _laceration_ _of lower_ _lip_ _. Recommended comprehensive examination by physician and stitches to suture wound._

His phone rang again.

Qrow picked it up with a sigh, not even bothering to look at the screen. “What’d you forget this time, Tai?” he asked.

“I don’t know what your brother-in-law forgot,” a deep male voice replied in amusement, “but I get the feeling you didn’t check your voicemail.”

“Aw, shit. I’m sorry, James. It’s been a long damn day.” He huffed a laugh through his nose. “Up late, aren’t ya? Where are you, anyway? Usually I hear a hell of a lot more traffic behind you when you call.”

A laugh crackled from the other side of the line. “Put those papers down and take a look out your front window.”

Qrow gave the phone a disgruntled look before getting up. “How the hell do you know what’s-” Ruby poked him as he walked in front of the TV; he waved her off and pushed the dusty old curtains back to look outside. There was an unfamiliar car parked outside his house, an Army green Jeep, with a tall, broad figure leaning up against it. As he watched, the figure waved his cell phone at him.

“ _Oh my fuck,_ ” he breathed.

Ruby started as Qrow dropped his phone and dashed for the door. He slammed it open, practically jumping down the stairs in his eagerness, and ran straight at the man standing there. James Ironwood stumbled, laughing, as Qrow wrapped him in a bearhug so tight it lifted him an inch off the ground. “You tin-plated dickhead. You fuckin’ _asshole_ ,” Qrow swore; but his grin was broad enough to split his face in two. It was a ricochet of emotion, but – he hadn’t been this happy to see anyone in a long damn time. Not since coming home from Afghanistan. “How the fuck- I thought you weren’t moving out here for another month!”

“Surprise?” James’s laugh was breathy and full-hearted; he stumbled when Qrow put him down, using the Jeep to steady his balance. “You act like we haven’t seen each other in decades.”

“It’s been a year, Jimmy! I’m teaching kids while you’re off doing god-knows-what-”

“I was just a part-time consultant,” James interjected mildly.

“- _god-knows-what_ in some skunkworks somewhere!” Qrow shook his head with a laugh. “Probably better for you, though. You never were happy unless you were guts deep in a bird.”

James snorted. “Don’t say that too loudly. You’ll give the civilians around here the wrong idea.”

Qrow hummed, leaning against the Jeep. “So how did you get out here early? Thought you were still looking for a buyer for your old house.”

“Ella’s going to oversee the closing. Ever since the divorce, she’s been a lot more… willing to help out. Especially if it means getting me out of sight faster.” He rubbed at his right arm, a frown furrowing his brow. Qrow’s gaze dropped to his hand; there was no glove today to cover the prosthesis, just too-pink fake skin stretched tight over metal joints. “I got a job offer here I couldn’t refuse- NASA’s picking up research over at Ames, wanted me to join their braintrust.”

“And you’ll knock ‘em dead, James, I know you.” He put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “C’mon. You can’t let this intimidate you. I mean- fuck it, it’s tough, I get it.” Qrow’s shoulders sagged. “I get it.”

James looked down at him. “How are you really, Scareqrow?” he asked, his voice soft.

Qrow barked a laugh. “… ’bout as good as you are, Tinman.”

“I know. I know.” Pushing himself up off the Jeep, James pulled Qrow to him in a lopsided hug. After a moment, Qrow wrapped his arms around him, latching on for dear life.

If he closed his eyes, he imagined he could smell it, blood baking on the desert sands.

“You know you can call me if you’re having it rough,” James murmured. “Call one of the others. It’s been almost four years, Qrow. You can make it.”

“Yeah.” He pulled away, making a show of pushing his hair back from his face to hide him wiping at his eyes. Things like this reminded him of just why the taller man was his best friend. War had forged their bond, yes, but dammit, friends just didn’t _get_ any better than James Ironwood, pig-headedness included. “I got this. It’s just… been a day, Rae-”

James’s phone beeped.

“Shit.” He pulled it from his belt and scanned the message there. “I left Penny back at the hotel; I didn’t mean to stop by this long. I need to get going.”

“Sure.” Qrow stepped back and let a lopsided smile cross his face. “Hey, why don’t we get together this weekend? We can go hit the bars, I can show you around.”

“I’d like that.” James grinned back, walking stiffly back around to get inside his car. “I’ll call you!”

Qrow shook his head and waved as he pulled out of the driveway. It was good to have him back, but… no. No, he wasn’t going to think about anything but the good. “Cut it out, dumbass,” he muttered to himself, turning and walking back inside.

_Crunch._

... his phone. God _dammit_.

He picked his phone up off the ground; beneath the shattered screen was a new call notification that flickered and vanished before he could read it. Dead. Just like that.

“Well, ain’t _that_ just my fuckin’ luck,” he sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Glynda returns, Penny meets Ruby, and we get to meet Oscar and Whitley's fathers in a dance-off that's sure to please! (One of these things may not be true.)
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	3. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parent-teacher conferences are never fun. They're especially not fun when one of the parents is an asshole and the other is hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am apologizing for nothing.

Qrow had been gifted with two nicknames throughout his life. Scareqrow – his callsign – had been gifted by an old squadron of friends, back in the days when he’d lived in the skies. When he’d been invincible. A name he’d been proud of, until rockets and fire had clipped his wings. He’d never be rid of it, of course – but the only ones who would dare call him that to his face had burned along with him.

His other nickname had been with him, it seemed, since birth. Something of a cruel joke, a thing his mother used to tease him with when she was drunk and lazy and feeling affectionate – or when coming off a high and mean in her bitterness. Raven had picked it up, parroted it, called him that with what she considered fondness.

_Bad luck charm._

Considering his fortunes, they weren’t too far off the mark.

Clothing rumpled, head throbbing, and bleary-eyed from a hangover, Qrow had gotten himself together enough to get the girls into school (though he’d set the toaster on fire, stepped on Zwei’s foot, broken Ruby’s favorite mug, and somehow managed to wash something red in with his white polo shirts). His first two periods were free; his plan was to get into his office, lock the door, and sleep.

Or it had been, until he saw one Glynda Goodwitch standing in the doorway looking highly pissed off.

“Qrow,” she began without preamble. “We have a problem.”

 

* * *

Meeting Jacques Schnee, Qrow reflected, was rather like meeting a rabid weasel – though that wasn’t fair to the weasel, really, as weasels had more charisma than Jacques did.

The construction magnate was sitting in a chair by his desk, arms folded over his Gucci coat and ridiculous mustache twitching as he appraised Qrow. The mustache was kind of hypnotic, in a way. It certainly gave Qrow something to focus on other than his strange desire to punch the man in front of him. Jacques was one of _those_ people – Gucci and diamonds from head to toe, faint German accent he’d had to have gotten from a voice coach, hair bleached to hide the oncoming grey, and the kind of ego that required him to gloat about his good fortunes to everyone that he deigned to be under him.

There was a reason Schnee Design & Construction was called the Schnee Dust Company behind the man’s back, and it wasn’t out of fondness.

“I take it you’re Alejandro Branwen?” he asked, holding out a hand.

Qrow’s jaw twitched. “I prefer Qrow,” he replied, taking the handshake. It was a careful, downright painful, grip, one he didn’t expect from someone with such baby soft hands, but he didn’t flinch.

Until Jacques, damn him, flicked his eyes to his hand and raised an eyebrow.

“Well! I’d heard you were in combat. You got off luckier than some, eh?” He started to laugh it off, letting go – until Qrow glared at him, red eyes dark and bitter. Jacques smiled a bit, unfazed. “I mean no offense, of course. It’s an honor to meet someone willing to sacrifice for our country.”

Qrow shoved his hands into his pockets with a grimace. His touch burned now, burned like knives – like then, the broken knives that sunk through bone, watching his fingers get carved off one by – “What exactly is this meeting about?” he rasped with a scowl, eyes hard. “If you’re wanting a second opinion on–“

“Ms. Goodwitch blames my son for the fight that happened yesterday. Her sentence was draconian, especially since he did not even throw the first punch! That Pine boy nearly broke my Whitley’s nose, and yet he’s barely being punished at all!”

“I do beg to differ on that point, Jacques. Oscar is being punished quite enough for his actions.”

Qrow whirled around at the voice behind him. There was a man standing in the doorway to the office – or, at least, Qrow thought it was a man. Warm hazel eyes peeked out from under unruly platinum hair and a pair of ridiculous little John Lennon sunglasses that he pulled off as he spoke. Neatly pressed, with a simple button-down shirt and slacks, but he leaned heavily on a twisted mahogany cane as he limped forward. Jacques was old – in his early fifties – but this man, without his glasses, was almost ageless. Certainly no older than Qrow, at least. “I’m sorry to interrupt. You’re Qrow Branwen, right? I’m Ozpin Pine, Oscar’s father.”

Qrow’s mouth had gone just a bit dry. “Yeah, that’s me. I take it you know Mr. Schnee here?”

He hummed, glancing over at the other man; his face tightened. “Unfortunately,” he sighed. “Are you the one who called this little meeting to order, Jacques? I had to shut my shop down _and_ reschedule a meeting with a client for this.”

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ , Ozpin,” Jaques sneered at him. “I thought discussing your son’s horrible manners might be just a touch more important that your dusty old flea market!”

Ozpin’s lips tightened; Qrow held his hands up. “OK, no. We’re here to discuss the boys and their punishment, not whatever issues you two have. Let’s all take a seat and work this out. Like adults.”

Jacques sniffed. Ozpin nodded his head and sank ungracefully into a chair with the help of his cane, his left leg jutting out at an odd angle. “Yes. Forgive me. What exactly is the problem with this, if I may ask? I thought Glynda’s punishment for Oscar was fair, given the circumstances.”

“Fair?” The magnate scoffed. “They should have kicked your boy out of school altogether. He hit my son!”

“And I am not excusing that,” Ozpin said calmly. “But I understand it. Jacques, this is the fifth time in the last three weeks that Whitley has been caught using homophobic language towards my son.”

Jacques rolled his eyes; the urge to punch the weaselly man started coming back to Qrow. “Boys will be boys, Ozpin. Besides, where would he have even heard such language? The school is supposed to be tolerant. If he’s saying it, then he must be picking it up here.”

Ozpin snorted a laugh. “The school – Jacques, _you_ called me a ‘mincing little queer’ at the last PTO meeting. To my face, I might add.” Jacques’s face turned an interesting shade of scarlet as he went stiff in his chair. “While I appreciate you being honest in your feelings about me, I do wonder why you insist on focusing on my supposed sexuality.” His slim fingers fidgeted atop the cane; Qrow could see a very faint tan line across his left ring finger, pale where a ring would normally be. “There are so many other things about me to insult; why just pick that?”

“That is beneath me to even answer,” Jacques spat, his icy blue eyes sparking. “Listen to yourself. Have you no shame in these lies you keep spewing? Or in how you’re raising that poor boy? No religion, no morals, no mother – Salem must be spinning in her grave to see–“

Ozpin was out of his chair in a shot, a snarl on his face and his fingers knotted tightly around the cane. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ say her name, Schnee,” he snarled. Qrow leapt to his feet, hand wavering over the man’s shoulder to pull him away, but he eased back and drew a ragged breath. There were … Jesus, there were tears in the corners of his eyes. “You have no right to say her name,” he breathed before collapsing back into his chair with a thump.

Jacques, for his part, leaned forward without waiting for the other to collect himself. “I want an apology, Ozpin,” he pushed. “I want you _and_ your boy to apologize to me and my Whitley for attacking him unfounded.”

Qrow scowled bitterly at Jacques, hate rising in his chest. Being a rich snot was one thing, but attacking someone like this – and that explained, too, Glynda’s comment, the previous taunting over Oscar’s mother. To taunt a widower over the death of his wife, to taunt a child over the death of his mother – that was beyond the pale. “I was there, Mr. Schnee,” Qrow said coldly. “I saw the whole thing. That attack was most certainly not unfounded. You son had Oscar cornered in public where he would be the most humiliated. This isn’t the first time either. Your son’s picked up the habit of picking on Oscar about his mother too, and I am not having that at all.”

“Oscar didn’t tell me that,” Ozpin murmured quietly, looking up at Jacques. “And you have the gall to ask for an apology?”

“I could demand you pay for his doctor bill.”

For a moment Qrow wondered what would happen if Ozpin told Jacques to go fuck himself. But instead the man sighed and shook his head. “I am sorry your son was hurt, Jacques,” Ozpin said after a moment, running a hand through his already messy hair. “That is the only apology you will get from me. Oscar… Oscar isn’t sorry, and I won’t force him to grovel before you or your son and give a fake apology to appease your pride.”

Before Jacques could protest, Qrow piped up. “I’ve been told by the school board that my decision is the one they’re going to stick by, and I say the original punishment holds.”

Jacques’s jaw dropped; Ozpin bit his lower lip to hide a bit of a smirk. Qrow, on the other hand, didn’t bother hiding his smirk. No, he was looking forward to this. “No groveling. No making each other pay hospital bills. None of that crap. You want to complain that boys will be boys? Fine. They can be boys, and they will be punished like boys. But I do have a caveat.”

Both parents looked up at him. “I’m coaching the junior varsity soccer team this year. And if I catch any of my students fighting, or using any sort of hateful language, I will have them removed. That goes for your boys as well.” He cracked his knuckles, giving them both a glare. “I run my teams the same way I did in the Army. They’ll shape up, or they’ll ship out.”

The pale, horrified look on Schnee’s face made the little power display worth it. “I see,” he spat, clearly unhappy with how the whole meeting had gone. “If that’s all, gentlemen, I do have a business to run. Mr. Branwen.” He sneered. “Ozpin.”

“Jacques.” Ozpin merely inclined his head as Jacques strode out of the room in a huff.

It was quiet once the magnate had left, just Qrow and Ozpin sitting in the office. Ozpin sank back in his chair and closed his eyes tight. “I’m very sorry for this mess, Mr. Branwen,” he said quietly after a few moments. “This is not how I imagine you wanted to spend your day.”

Qrow shrugged. It was strange to be comforted by someone, especially by someone who was obviously upset themselves. “To be honest, it was either this or teach kids the truth about the Iran-Contra affair. Not really ready to bust their bubble about American fuck-ups, so.” He hesitated for a moment, then put a hand on the other’s shoulder. “Are you all right? That Schnee guy was… kind of an asshole.”

Ozpin huffed a laugh. “That’s putting it quite kindly,” he said, opening his eyes to look up at Qrow. He had very long eyelashes for a man, thick and silvery. “But thank you.”

“Yeah, well.” He was standing a bit too close, and Qrow was never good at the whole comforting thing, but it felt right to at least try. “I’m sorry. About your wife, I mean.”

“… ah.” Ozpin pushed himself up with the cane, wincing – whether from the subject matter or from pain, Qrow couldn’t tell. Qrow could see it as he stood up, the silhouette of a black cord around his neck and under his shirt, with a ring hanging off it. “It’s… it’s fine. It was almost three years ago.” He shook his head as if to push the thoughts away. “Oscar’s quite fond of you, you know. Though I’m quite sure I should scold you about the whole ‘whiskey to kill the pain’ suggestion. Now he won’t stop talking about it.”

Qrow scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Yeah, gotta admit that one’s on me. Probably shouldn’t have done that. His sister didn’t look happy about it either.”

“Half-sister,” Ozpin corrected absently, “my stepdaughter Amber. And no, she’s just very overprotective, Mr. Branwen” He looked to Qrow and smiled then. There was something about him, silver hair aglow in the overhead lights and eyes the color of fine whiskey sparkling in amusement, that made Qrow’s throat just a bit tight.

“You can just call me Qrow.”

“Qrow.” Ozpin’s hand was warm as it squeezed his wrist. “Thank you, Qrow,” he said, and then he too was gone, limping out the door and leaving Qrow behind to stare blankly at the wall.

 _Fuck_ , he thought helplessly. _Fuck. Me. Running_.

 

* * *

Emerald City Antiques was cozy and cool as Ozpin stepped inside, the bells jingling merrily to announce his arrival. “Oh, Oz!” came the shout. “I didn’t expect you back so soon!”

“And I didn’t expect you at all.” He smiled and limped over to the register. Amber was sitting behind it, feet propped up on the glass showcase (this month’s display was antique pocketwatches) and a textbook on geology spread over her lap. She spread her arms out and he stepped into them, hugging her tight. “What brings you home so soon?”

“My geology class got canceled for today,” Amber explained, twirling a pencil in her fingers. “I figured I’d come in and help you out, especially since you had to deal with Junky Schneeze and his bull. How’d it go?” Her eyes scanned him; her face fell. “That bad?”

“No, no,” he reassured her. “There’s no change. He won’t be suing us, there’s no extra punishment. It’s fine, I promise.” He forced a smile onto his face. Amber had enough to deal with, what with college and assisting part-time at the antique store. He wasn’t going to put any extra burden on the girl he’d raised and loved as his own. Amber was too dear to him for that.

“Where’s Oscar?” he continued, kissing the top of her head as he used to when she was little. “I thought I’d make latkes for dinner, unless he’s spoiled his appetite already.”

“Did you say latkes?” Oscar bounded out of the back room and threw his arms around Ozpin’s waist. “Hi Dad.”

Ozpin chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Hello son. Yes, I said latkes. I might even make those horrid little devil cabbages you like so much, if you’ve got your homework done like you’re supposed to.”

Oscar froze. “Gimme five minutes!” he shouted and ran off in a blur.

Amber started laughing, holding her belly. “Oz, you’re so mean! We don’t even have sprouts right now!”

“We do if you go and buy some.” He popped open the register and pulled a few bills from it. “Go get yourself something as well.” At her surprised look, he forced a smile on his face. “We might as well have nice family dinner for a change, don’t you think?”

She took the bills and hopped off the stool, eyeing him closely. “Are you sure everything’s OK, Oz?” Amber asked, worry creasing her brow.

His smile softened. Behind her, on a shelf, was an old and worn photograph – Ozpin, in his younger years, with a thin-lipped smile on his face, standing stiffly besides an older albino woman; Oscar, just a baby, in his arms as an eight-year-old Amber posed like a princess before them.

If one looked closely, they could see Salem’s fingernails digging into his shoulder.

_Smile for the camera, love._

“Everything’s fine, Amber,” Ozpin said. “Everything’s just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Ironwood gets help moving in, Ozpin gets advice from an old friend, Penny and Oscar hang out, and Jacques Schnee is awarded Biggest Asshole of All Time at the Emmys.
> 
> (credit to the ozqrow server on Discord for the devil cabbages joke. Love you guys!)


	4. Cornichons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School, groceries. Domestic life.
> 
> And reminders of a bitter ~~sweet~~ past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry this took so long. Life has been utterly ridiculous and the only reason I've been able to finish this is because I have the flu. Hooray for sickness? Also, mind the tags- I edited them a bit, haha.
> 
> There's a mention in here that's a nod to a good friend of mine, [CocksAndClocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks) here on AO3 (or [BaconFlavoredCosplay](http://baconflavoredcosplay.tumblr.com/) on teh Tumblz). Go read her fics. They are awesome.
> 
> Also for those not in the know: cornichons are tiny, extra-tart French pickles. This is relevant, I promise.

The rest of the week seemed to crawl now that Qrow had something to look forward to. News of Whitley and Oscar’s brawl had spread like wildfire, of course, with details of their injuries growing more and more grotesque with each retelling. Not that he was going to correct anyone. Let the kids think Oscar was a secret badass at karate or kept brass knuckles in his pockets – anything that helped the kid get picked on less was a good thing, in his books.

 

Besides, Whitley had deserved it.

 

Outside of that, though, everything else was quiet, and that was terrible for Qrow’s nerves. The longer things were quiet, the more time he had to think, and thinking was not high on his list of “things Qrow Branwen should be allowed to do.” His mind tended to go places it shouldn’t – ruminating on the past, for example, or imagining horrible things for the future.

 

Or better yet, mooning over the parents of one of his students.

 

Qrow let out a long sigh and rubbed his temples as he glanced over his students, their heads bent over their desks as they scribbled over their pop quizzes. He’d expected some of their parents to be cute. He’d been warned about that when he’d been a student teacher – _don’t have a fuckin’ affair with your student’s parents, flyboy_ , his mentor had said gruffly on his exit interview. He could see the old man now, chewing a cigar under his bushy mustache and poking a nicotine-stained finger into his chest. _Pretty ladies? They’ll be_ _flirty_ _. They’ll have sob stories. But don’t break up the families or I’ll break your birdie legs._

 

The old man hadn’t warned him about about this, though, tall handsome widowers with warm hearts and sadness in their smiles.

 

Papers began shuffling their way onto his desk; he picked them up with a smile and nod, his mind a million miles away. Ozpin probably didn’t even _like_ men, not in that way – he clearly liked women enough to have a child with one. And yet the man filled Qrow’s idle thoughts and fantasies anyway: the glint of gold in those whiskey-soaked eyes; the arch of his throat and fall of tousled hair; full, rough lips and long fingers that could scratch and pull-

 

“Mr. Branwen? Are you OK?”

 

Qrow glanced up and promptly smacked himself in the face with his student’s outstretched paper. “Oof. Sorry, Neptune, must’ve spaced out. You’re all done?”

 

“Everybody is. Bell just rang.” Indeed, the seats were mostly empty, just a few stragglers gathering their things and laughing in the back of the room. “Sure you’re okay, teach? Your face is all red.”

 

“… I’m fine. And for the last time, don’t call me that.” He snatched the paper away and leaned back in his chair. God, he could _feel_ his ears burning red. What the hell must the kids think? “Better hurry up, kid. Weekend’s here. You don’t want to miss it.” Qrow glanced behind the teen. “Or Sun. He’s been waiting for you.”

 

Neptune flushed bright red; the aforementioned Sun, hanging out in the doorway with a good-natured grin plastered on his face, waved and laughed. “Have a good weekend, dude!” the blond sang out as his boyfriend rushed to meet him. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

 

“I’d hate to know what that is,” Qrow half-heartedly chuckled, waving them off.

 

Slowly, the students trickled out; once the classroom was empty, he raked his hands through his hair and let out a frustrated huff of air.

 

It was hopeless. He’d probably never meet the guy again, except in stupid parent-teacher conferences. Maybe after soccer practice – he knew Oscar was on the JV team. But even then… what would it be? A smile, a handshake, a few words here and there at the most, and he knew nothing would come of it.

 

And yet – he wanted to _hope_.

 

Qrow stuffed his face in his hands to muffle his scream of frustration.

 

* * *

 

“What’s next on the list, Oscar?”

 

Early Saturday morning saw Ozpin and Oscar foregoing the usual relaxation to do that most mundane of chores: grocery shopping. Ozpin leaned heavily on the cart, his cane hanging off the side and Oscar trotting alongside as they wandered and chatted their way along under the florescent lights. There was a time long ago when this had been a game, Amber running the cart along at breakneck speeds with Oscar surfing on the end of it as he and Salem-

 

His fingers clenched around the cold metal bar, fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm.

 

Unaware of his father’s reminiscing, Oscar ran a finger down the paper. “We’ve got half the list, so next up is… Dad. _N_ _o_.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Bacon? _Really_?”

 

“Bacon, my dear son,” Ozpin said with a little toss of his head, “is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.”

 

Oscar made a show of rolling his eyes. “Bacon isn’t kosher. Dad, you’re a terrible Jew.”

 

He flicked Oscar’s nose with a grin, ignoring his indignant yelp to limp down the condiments aisle. “Well. Technically I’m only three-quarters Jewish. My grandfather – your great-grandfather – was Methodist. I have many a fond memory of eating bacon sandwiches with him on his front porch while… Oscar?”

 

Oscar had stopped in the middle of the aisle to examine a row of small glass jars; something heavy sank in the center of Ozpin’s chest as he stepped over to him. “Oscar?” he repeated softly. “Is something wrong?”

 

“Mom used to like these, didn’t she?” the boy asked, his eyes tight.

 

“… cornichons. Yes.” He plucked a jar from the row, rotating it in his palms. Oscar looked up at him in confusion as Ozpin pressed his lips together tight, drawing in a deep breath. “It’s… it’s funny. When she was carrying you… and we had tried so many times to have a child, Oscar, we were about to give up when she became pregnant with you.” A soft smile crossed his face, his expression softening, and he ruffled Oscar’s unruly hair. “Our little miracle.”

 

“Ugh, Dad,” Oscar whined, but he leaned against his father and took his hand.

 

He chuckled. “Once the morning sickness passed, well… your mother craved these blasted little things. Morning, noon and night – cornichons. Cornichons with breakfast, cornichons as midnight snacks… her favorite thing to eat was a bowl of rice pudding with gefilte fish and cornichons chopped up on top.” Oscar made a gagging noise; Ozpin snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “I tried it once at her insistence; it was just as revolting as you’d think. She loved those blasted things. So many midnight runs to the grocery store just for cornichons…. I used to have _nightmares_ that we’d go to the hospital and I’d watch my wife give birth to a squalling _pickle_ instead of a little boy.”

 

He handed the little jar back to Oscar, mischief glinting in his eye. “As it turns out, my nightmare came true.”

 

Oscar squawked and swatted at his father. “Daaaad, that’s not funny!” he laughed.

 

“Salem used to call you her little cornichon when you were a baby,” he teased. “Why do you think we dressed you up as a pickle for your first Halloween?”

 

He smiled, putting the jar back on the shelf. Ozpin turned back to the cart, breathing a sigh when a soft sound behind him caught his ear.

 

“… Dad?”

 

Ozpin turned around. Oscar fidgeted there behind him, hazel-green eyes peering up at him from under his mussed hair and fingers ripping tiny cuts into the shopping list. “Do you miss her?”

 

There, in the middle of a cold grocery aisle, surrounded by dusty cans and harsh buzzing florescent lights – Oscar looked so _young_ , the way he had when the accident had torn the family apart. The way he had in the hospital, fidgeting with the tear in his shirt while they told him Salem – Salem had –

 

The backs of Ozpin’s eyes burned, fiercely and suddenly. Swallowing hard, he ignored the screaming ache in his hip and knee and knelt to be eye level with his son. “Your mother….” He had to stop and swallow again to collect himself. “I loved Salem with all my heart, Oscar. You know that. I just… we had our problems-”

 

“She was getting better,” he insisted. “She really _was_ , Dad, she-”

 

 _She was getting better at hiding it,_ came the thought, viciously squashed before it could be vocalized. “Oscar, of course I miss her,” he sighed, cupping his son’s face in his hands. “She was my wife. Your mother. We had our ups and downs like any other family, but I loved her. It’s not like a light switch I can just flip off.”

 

“Then why don’t you ever _talk_ about her?” Oscar’s lower lip quivered; Ozpin tucked him in tight against his chest, gently rubbing the back of his head as his shirt grew damp and Oscar’s breathing shook.

 

_Because the truth would break your heart, Oscar._

 

They stayed there for several minutes, in the middle of the grocery aisle, until Oscar’s breathing steadied and he pulled away. Ozpin wiped at his face with the edge of his shirt sleeve, a soft, sad smile crossing his lips. “Let’s finish up our shopping, all right?”

 

“… okay.”

 

Ozpin struggled to get back up, Oscar helping him regain his footing as his traitorous joints popped and cracked. “I still have to get some bacon,” he added with a lightness he didn’t feel.

 

Oscar sniffed and rubbed his nose, cracking a tiny smile under red-rimmed eyes. “Dad, no.”

 

“Dad _yes_.”

 

* * *

 

“Y’know, I never volunteered for this, Jimmy.”

 

James rolled his eyes for what felt like the three thousandth time that trip. Penny, riding on the side of the grocery cart, giggled. “Qrow, you keep saying that, but it doesn’t change the fact that you came anyway.”

 

“Of course I came. You think I was gonna let you go do all your shopping at fuckin’ Whole Paycheck? You’re crazy. Your dad’s crazy, Penny. But you probably know that already.” He winked at her; she gave him the thumbs-up. James groaned and swerved the cart to avoid a pothole in the parking lot.

 

“Traitors, both of you,” he accused, earning himself giggles from his daughter. “You sure you got everything you needed, Qrow? You didn’t get... very much.”

 

The younger man shrugged. “I got what I needed. Pretty sure that’s enough to feed a couple ‘a teenagers for a while. Besides, this is punishment for not gettin’ me a grocery list like I asked.” Qrow grinned wolfishly. “They don’t tell me what they want? S’fine. They’ll get shit on a shingle and crappy frozen pizzas until they _do_ tell me.”

 

“You’re a hell of a drill instructor,” James laughed, shoving the cart along.

 

“That’s not what the cadets sa- _Jimmy watch out!_ ”

 

The shopping cart smashed headlong into the curb, knocking Penny off the cart and scraping the green paint off with a whine of metal on metal. James dropped his hands, clutching his arm in pain; Qrow lunged forward to catch Penny before she hit the pavement. “Shit,” he breathed as the little girl clung to his neck. “ _Fuck_ – are you two OK?”

 

James didn’t answer. His prosthetic hand twitched in his grasp, the electronics clearly unhappy with the jolt, but he wasn’t paying attention to it; Penny slid safely out of Qrow’s careful grip, teeth worrying her lower lip. Ahead of them, oblivious to the crash that had happened, was a sight that made Qrow’s heart skip a beat – there was no mistaking that crown of platinum hair glowing in the sun, or the heavy burdened droop of his shoulders, or the long crooked line the figure cut as he slowly walked down the blacktop with a tousle-haired boy in tow.

 

Qrow wasn’t the only one staring at Ozpin. James was too – his face pale and jaw working out soundless words as he watched the Pine family begin loading groceries into a battered old car.

 

“Jimmy?” Qrow ventured.

 

A shudder ran through him, so slight it was barely noticeable. “I’m fine, Qrow.” His prosthetic fingers flexed in a rhythmic motion. “I just… thought I saw someone I knew.”

 

“When have you had time to be making friends out here?” He meant it as a joke, but James’s shoulders stiffened and he clenched his prosthesis to himself.

 

“Never,” he said, and grabbed the cart. “Come on, Penny. Let’s get home before the ice cream melts.”

 

Qrow fell in step behind them. Secrets, then, and he hated the uncertainty of being left in the dark. Because James had recognized Ozpin. Because James was lying to him, after all they’d been through together. Because if they could share everything while slowly dying under the plains of Kandahar, then surely to God there was no reason to not share this.

 

Those bitter thoughts followed him all the way home, driving away the glimpse of silver hair glinting gold in the sunlight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I'll try to be better about updating, I am so sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and let me know what you thought!


End file.
